Symbiosis
by lyrainthedark
Summary: One tiny fragment of the shikon no tama - not even a shard, but enough to change the world. The past can mean nothing when the future is at stake; is love is a seed that will can plant, and nurture? What is the nature of evil? What lasts forever? Naraku is full of questions; Kagome is praying to be the answer - their reasons belong only to them. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Symbiosis**

"So dark...so pure. So beautiful...but not yet perfect."

Naraku turns the sparkling round gem in his fingers – long, fine fingers, the nails clean and cut blunt and even, the skin pale, shining like gilded ivory in the dusky light of his dim apartments. The jewel is round and perfect to the eye, but as he spins it his fingers encounter the same tiny notch, over and over – a piece not as large as the other shards, curved and tear-drop shaped beneath his fingers.

_As if something else had breached the surface – before ever the girl shattered it with her arrow. Or...was one of the shards further damaged? Did Inuyasha seek to thwart my chances, even if I were to think I achieved my goal? _

He frowns, stares at the gem in his hands, rich purple, the hue of twilight's sky as night overtakes it all.

_It must be perfect, without flaw, if it is to grant a wish. This much I know. _

He is unwilling to grant that much foresight to Inuyasha, or even to the girl – to purposefully break what they work so hard to acquire? And he himself does not know how that could be done. It is within his power to separate the jewel into the fragments it has already been broken into. The fact that he can continue to do so even now – it was his first clue that all was not well with his prize.

_On the other hand...I do not know how the jewel came to return to this earth. With the girl, this much is certain – but how? And if it was hers, how it was it lost? How was it that she came to be using her own power against that which she was sworn to protect?_

He is making the best assumptions he can with the knowledge he possesses, but he does not know that Kagome moves outside of time, and he does not know that she once bore it within her body. The presence of the _shikon no tama_ was obvious to him – that startling power, so familiar, so tempting -

But all he knows of the way the jewel was broken was what he sensed and saw from a hundred miles away. Stories have circulated since then, hearsay and rumor, and he has heard the girl express her own feelings of guilt – has heard Inuyasha's accusing voice, and smiled, because there is the entry he used _before_, the jealousies of time and attention, the fragile cracks in trust.

_Perhaps I can do it again; perhaps, from the very beginning, I should have done what is tried and true; what has always worked, especially against such as these_.

It will prove unwise that he has identified Kagome with Kikyou, _now_, after years of being wise enough not to do so - that he has underestimated her intelligence, and her power...that he has assumed that now, four and a half years after she first arrived in _Sengoku Jidai_, her feelings for the hanyou are still the same.

The plan is simple; the best plans always are, and he knows this.

Quietly, he crosses Nihon – breaks no walls, destroys no villages, makes no contact with youkai or human, mortal or immortal. He leaves no scent, not a whisper of miasma or a rumor of his name...and slowly, slowly, because he is being, for the first time in years, truly cautious, he begins to collect rumor about the group of companions that has dogged his steps for so long.

The word that comes to him is confusing – the girl seems to disappear at times, vanishing from the casual stories of villagers even while the others continue to wander – priest, slayer, hanyou, youkai. The one called Sesshomaru is the one who concerns him most; it was an error, taunting such a one and not destroying him when he had the opportunity.

_I assumed too much because of that missing arm, the apparent weakness. I have suffered for it since; time proved that if I had not provoked him, he would never have come to his brother's aid. Not unless I threatened the whole of Nihon would he attack me, and perhaps not then – perhaps. _

In the darkness of a nameless tavern, his eyes closed, his head tilted back, Naraku contemplates the foul odor of humanity and the _slightly_ less foul taste of the drink in front of him. The rumors concentrate, as they always seem to do, around Edo. The village is small, unimportant to him in the greater scheme of things – a reminder of things he would rather forget, of things that would be _best_ if forgotten.

_But still, I remember_.

The pain...ahh, he would never forget the pain. The fire had roasted him, seared the skin from his deeper tissues in moments, left deep, suppurating wounds – and the smell. The smell of his own flesh crisping like pork, the smell of the smoke, which he knew well – human meat, cooking, _his meat_, cooking – the smell of the wounds as the infection settled.

_And then, one day..._

The odors of rain, and mint, and pungent medicine; the face of a woman, a miko: _Kikyou_. A feeling like nothing that had ever touched him before, when he was deemed worthy of saving -

_Oh, how I fought it. _

He did not want to be saved; he did not want to admit that once he had other dreams than those of death and violence. The more the miko had pressed him to forgive himself, to beg for forgiveness of the gods, the cruder and crueler his responses became. How had he ever believed she would come to love him, when he taunted her with tales of his_ mischief_, when he described to her the atrocities he had committed, when he spoke of rapes and murders with tender, loving tones?

_Did I want her to love me, then? Did I love her, then? I wanted her...oh, how I wanted her._

The longer he was confined, the longer she tortured him with her nearness, her soft naiveté, the more he wanted her. Until he could not longer stand his own desire, and begged the gods for death. Until it became clear that the gods were not listening, and death would not come for him on command – and then it was easy, so easy to take another path. To consume the darkness; to become it. To be overwhelmed by it; until all that was left of Onigumo was emotion, and memory, and Naraku – red eyes in the dark, and a diabolical plot.

_And now, I will do it again. _

Several weeks pass before he again hears rumor of the group traveling together, girl included; he ponders, for a day or so, the mystery of her disappearances – but it is minor compared to his main problem and he dismisses it with a blink, a sigh. The general direction of their travel is westerly; it is difficult to keep perfect track of them, but he follows at a distance, listening to the words of villagers who speak of such-and-such a youkai's defeat, or the dispelling of a certain curse.

All the while, the same question is reported to him as being on the lips of their _saviors_ - "Have you heard anything about the _shikon no tama_?" When he hears this, Naraku laughs quietly to himself. He has been _too_ quiet – so quiet that they are beginning to believe there must be more shards of the jewel still free in the world.

_Well...if I am honest, that is the likely truth. But I will not tell them that...and I certainly do not think they are smart enough to figure it out on their own. _

Even possessing the _shikon no tama_ in near-entirety was not enough to make him invincible, but there was something to be said for revenge, for thwarted plots and years and years of waiting. Something, indeed.

His smile scares away the woman who has come to refill his drink, but he does not notice – instead, his attention focuses on the group that has just come through the door, dry-throated and dark with the dust of the road. His attention sharpens; he dulls the glittering of his eyes, wraps scent and purpose in a cloak of false night. Inuyasha draws many eyes; beside him, the presence of the woman with her weapons and the girl in her odd, obscene clothing are nothing more than footnotes. To Naraku, though, the girl...

Her presence is strong, as always, her power flooded to its maximum potential and writhing through the room untamed. It has the same _flavor_ as Kikyou's power, and that he enjoys – but it is wilder, darker, sharper. As he continues his perusal, he finally senses what he was seeking.

_Shikon no tama. So, the girl has it after all. _

But her face is light and carefree; there is no caution in her aura, as there should be if she carries such a treasure, such a prize. More carefully, Naraku thrusts his senses forward – the woman, not a true power...but every observation he can make shows her to be relaxed, the only wariness in her the natural wariness that comes with years of training and martial skill. The priest...more dangerous to probe, to prod – but again, no cautious aura, no alertness, no waiting potential...

Inuyasha...Inuyasha is a different story but Naraku cannot believe that this is anything but his usual attitude – that scowl, that stance, the hand close to his sword. Before Inuyasha ever knew his name, before they were real enemies in the usual sense of the word – in the early days, when all he had wanted was Kikyou, Naraku had spent the days after his birth observing Inuyasha; watching him, learning his mannerisms,the sound of his voice, the details of his shape and dress.

All that he learned then tells him that Inuyasha is as relaxed now as he ever is in the presence of others; he is always waiting for judgment to be passed on his existence.

_So...none of them are wary, are waiting...do they not know? How could they not know?_

Suddenly, he is confronted by a mystery, but he is certain that there is an easy way to solve it.

_Sesshomaru, that one...he is not here. Of course; he would not lower himself to enter a human village. I wonder...how close are you, Sesshomaru?_

He faces a division of risks. On the one hand, to take the girl and go, astonishing these others with his presence, with surprise. They will never react fast enough to save her; it is unlikely they will even be able to wound him...but -

_If the Inu lord is close enough, there will be trouble as I try to flee._

The other option brings immediate danger, or nothing. To stretch his presence, his senses, enough to find Sesshomaru...but in so doing, he will alert Inuyasha and the priest...perhaps even the girl, if she has yet honed her senses far enough.

_What do I lose, what do I gain..._

He makes the decision in a moment – stands, and sweeps across them room, trailing power sudden and sharply. He hears Inuyasha's obscene exclamation, the screech of steel suddenly drawn, the beginnings of words,being shouted in his direction, and then...

The girl, in his arms, staring at his face with a strange expression – a waiting expression, a thoughtful cast of eyes, a faint amusement in the turn of her lips.

Then they are gone, leaving her companions behind and a shattered hole in the roof of the inn where Naraku had been waiting.

There is more to shock him on this journey; the girl is too comfortable in his grasp, holds willingly but not with fear-whitened knuckles to his robe, peers down with an interested face at the ground wheeling by quickly – and she is not screaming or struggling or begging or attempting to purify him, she is not clawing at him, not trying to escape, not vowing vengeance...

Instead she alternates her perusal of the landscape with perusal of his features – her stare disturbs and distracts him, for her face is startlingly like Kikyou's but her eyes...her eyes are her own, blistering blue, engaging.

He has never before had a captive so willing to be...captivated.

* * *

Kagome has been waiting for Naraku to find her. Within her burns a secret knowledge – knowledge which she has not shared with a single companion, not even with Inuyasha.

The last battle should have ended it all. In the month or so that had passed since then, the consequences of losing the final shards of the jewel to Naraku should have been obvious, but...no. The dull humming of her senses pointed her always in one direction, a physical pull that grew that closer she came to its source.

In the past, she had used that pull to lead her across the countryside, seeking the shard of the _shikon no tama_ that she knew would be at the other end. Now, she knows that it leads to Naraku...but she also knows that to bring her companions, her friends, to him would be no good.

_What good did it do last time? We nearly died, all of us. Even Sesshomaru was wounded, though he came to the battle late, and ...Naraku won. Wounded, horribly wounded, but..he got away with the jewel, not just a few shards but all of it...all the pieces...except..._

She knows for certain what Naraku only suspects; that within her, something lingers – a piece of the jewel, a fragment that was not one of the shards that she sent flying across the land with her arrow. For a long time, she wondered – because the sense that drew her onward towards the shards was a sharp and physical pull, not vague sensation – because untrained and powerless, deprived of all her strength, she still could find the shards, could still _feel _their presence like a second heartbeat, bound to her flesh.

At first, she thought it was only that the jewel had been part of her since birth – but that was not enough to explain her affinity, to explain how the fragments became whole without intent or interference in her hands; how without effort, her hands were enough to purify it; how easily, since she came to the past, she has been able to access her power, when in the future it does not avail her at all.

When she began to learn her power, to manipulate it, to master uses and forms – then she realized what it was that made her different; the jewel itself, still influencing her, twisting what should be a miko's strength into something almost untameable, something _other_.

Naraku's presence, the pull of the _shikon no tama_, the fact that he has not yet made his wish, whatever wish that might be...all those things together are the truth, and she is smart enough, aware enough, to recognize it. She has tracked the truth in her thoughts – and she knows the moment when her life was changed forever, forced along a new path.

_Within me – a piece of the gem. So small...tiny. Or I would know; I would have felt it, tearing me inside. The day I was brought back to the past, and the jewel was torn from my side – that day, I was **infected. **Changed. Not much, but enough...enough that something within me always call out to the rest of that gem; enough to give me power no normal miko should possess – enough to make my strength more than a holy light...enough so that my arrow and Inuyasha's sword, my arrow and Sesshomaru's power, can blend, and merge, and overcome._

That _pull_, the pull of the thing inside her, is inescapable; she does not think it will ever let her go and she does not think there is any way the jewel can ever be made whole again, outside her death.

_If I die like Kikyou – the jewel in my hands. If it is burned with my body; but then the cycle will do nothing but begin again. Or if someone is smart enough to pick through the pieces of my flesh with the sharpest of eyes; will to tear my body into threads, just for inspection._

She thinks Naraku is such a one; and so the truth remains -

Her secret; her knowledge; her doom.

When she walks behind Inuyasha into the inn where Naraku lies in wait, it is with full knowledge of his presence. How could she not know? He carries the jewel with him, and though his own presence is heavily concealed, swathed in physical shadows and _other_ dullness – she knows.

She keeps her eyes from him, and tames her speeding heart; her eyes move back and forth, testing her companions, but she senses nothing from them, sees nothing. A flicker of gaze – yes, he is there, still there, sitting, watching – and she feels tendrils of awareness seeping outward, flickering across her skin. Her power flows wildly in response, dances, darts, embraces the oncoming darkness and then opens like a butterflies wings.

If he notices, he does not say anything.

She smiles, responds to Sango's comment, Miroku's jest – pokes fun at Inuyasha's sulking face. She long ago grew tired of play second-fiddle to a piece of her own soul; could he not look past death to life? Could he not see past the shadow to the living woman standing in front of him? It had been painful, and there had been soul searching – but she had reached the inevitable conclusion and felt better for it.

It had never been _her problem_. It had never been her at all – it had always been _him_, and Kikyou. He was blind to anything, to any_one_ else.

That, too, had hurt – but in a different, cleaner way...and then she had been free, and light, and happier than she had been in a long time – happier than she had been since she had first begun to travel regularly through time.

Then...then had come ennui. Without the emotional investment, without the conflict in her heart, the world had begun to go dull around her. The battles were the same – each one utterly meaningless, as Inuyasha led them in circles, fighting weak youkai and oni, demanding information that none of them could offer. Always the same question - "_Where is Naraku?_" - and always the same lack of an answer.

She could have led them – could have brought them all right to Naraku's gates...except she doubted their ability to make a difference. She doubted their strength, because Inuyasha and Sesshomaru could not cooperate; because Miroku could not be convinced to stop using the _Kazaana_, to his detriment; because Sango would not accept that it was best she stay back from the close-fighting, and use _Hiraikotsu_ to keep the field clear of weaker enemies.

She wanted her shot at vengeance; so did Miroku...so did they all.

_But the price has been lost battles, over and over...I'm no tactician, but this is ridiculous. _

Last time, they had almost died.

_Next time, will we be so lucky?_

She still did not know how she, herself, had survived. Was it luck? Fate? Some destiny she had yet to fulfill? Whatever it was, she was tired of it. Tired of the same complaints, the same casualties, the same corrections day in, day out...tired of endless battles to no purpose, tired of an enemy that could not be destroyed and would not stop trying to destroy them.

In this moment, sitting ten feet from that enemy and sipping on a cup of tea, Kagome wonders about his interests, his intentions, about what drives him on the endless quest – power? Only that? Can that possibly be enough? And if it is, why does he make such a misjudgment as he is making now?

_He is underestimating me. He is thinking, ah – so out of control. Ah, that little girl. He has never thought I was a threat – he has never really counted me among his enemies. Only Inuyasha, and Kikyou – and Sesshomaru, because he made himself so. Miroku he thinks he can destroy on a whim. Sango is no real threat to him, and even she knows it, proud as she is. _

_So what now? What is it he is planning? _

The slivers of his eyes betray nothing to her; suddenly all she wants to do is leap across the room and demand the truth from him – the knowledge of _why_ that she has never possessed.

_Maybe then something would change. Maybe then...something would finally happen, and this could all just end. _

It had never occurred to her that boredom could be as deadly as a sword -

And then he was moving, sweeping across the room and taking her up, up into the air and out across the spread of the land.

* * *

Naraku's first thought was to bring her to his palace, to the deepest, darkest dungeon and leave her there. Cold and fear and hunger would break her easily; pain and terror were tools that came to the front of his thoughts by sheer instinct.

_But..._

Something in her stare, in her limp body, her quiet, steady attention – it hints to him that none of that may be necessary. In her stillness, she reminds him more than ever of Kikyou...but always those eyes, those blue eyes...

He surprises himself when he puts her down in the Main Hall of a palace he has taken for his own; she surprises him more when she stays where he drops her and does not move except to follow him with her gaze. He goes to the end of the hall and sits upon the cushions there, on a raised dais exposed to the hall by pushed back screens and raised curtains.

"So, girl – somehow, even defeated, you and yours have thwarted me. Would you care to tell me how, or -"

"There is no need for threats, Naraku. I am as tired of endless fighting, pointless battles, and shouted threats as much as you are. But I can't promise an easy solution to your problem."

He raises an eyebrow, gestures with one hand for her to continue. She focuses on his eyes, clear red, brighter than garnet, darker than ruby.

"The _shikon no tama_ – it was born with me into this world. It was part of me until the day I arrived in Edo, nearly five years ago now. A demon tore it from my body, and wounded me in the process; I still bear that scar."

Naraku leans forward in his chair; his eyes on her are hungry, now, and Kagome knows that she has come to the moment of greatest danger. She decides on a half-truth that may save her – for a little while, until she can begin to act on the plan that has been building in her for a long time, now.

_It all depends on him. _

"There are no shards tearing me inside, nothing solid, nothing to lay hands on...but something of that jewel remains a part of me; I can _feel_ it, always – the rest of the _shikon no tama_. It tugs on me – pulls me. At first, I thought it was because I was miko; now, I know it is not. And you..."

She steps forward, unafraid, comes closer to him than anyone has willingly come in a long, long time.

"You know it, too – don't you, Naraku?"

His smile is handsome and sinister and she is unsurprised to see that his evil is so elegant, so lovely. He has always been one of the most beautiful men, a rival to Sesshomaru's good looks; it makes the thing she has decided easier – it could be enjoyable, seducing this...man.

"Girl, you interest me; what is the source of this new...attitude? Are you _enjoying_ my presence?"

Kagome takes another step forward, comes to a stop at the foot of the dais. She looks up at him, and then she reaches out one hand and touches his cheek, sends him flinching backwards, startled – but she does not move, lets him come back to the gentle touch of her fingers, to the warmth, to the strangeness of an impossible moment.

"Naraku...what do you _want_, Naraku?"

He stares at her, feels her fingertips tracing his jawline, curiosity in them, intent he cannot read or identify. He sees conscious decision in her actions, in her movements – but he cannot discern her motives...only a presence, another faint hint, another reminiscence. _Kikyou_. Not her, but of her; an emulation – and there, he senses just a bit of purpose.

_She wants me to want her. Very well, girl. Two can play at that game... and I know it better._

For Kagome, it is a tense moment. She has made her decision by stepping forward; it is dangerous, what she is doing – the memory she is invoking, the path she has chosen to take. It is the path of ultimate sacrifice; her friends will never forgive her, _Inuyasha _will never forgive her. Her own soul quivers – what is left of it – but there is no turning back. If by making them hate her she can save their lives, their futures...

She will do it, and do her best not to look back.

She waits, holding her breath, for him to say something – _anything_. She is not prepared for what comes out of his mouth – for the words, so soft, that slither past all her armor and every scenario she had prepared for this moment.

"I want to be loved, girl. Once, I wanted Kikyou – but she is dead, and you are not her. Did you think I wanted power, some ultimate ability, that I required the _shikon no tama_ to strengthen myself? I have all the power I could want; not even you and all your companions together can destroy me now – or did you forget our battle, girl? It was not that long ago."

She shivers, just a little, but her chin comes up and she meets his burning gaze.

"I have a name, Naraku. I'm not _girl_. I haven't been _girl_ for a long time."

Again, that lift of the eyebrow.

"Oh? You act like I care."

He smirks, shows a line of white, perfect teeth.

"What do _you_ want, _girl_? Why are you here – why aren't you fighting me? Where is your fear?"

"I'm afraid – it's...it's just not important. I told you, didn't I, that I was tired of fighting? That I knew that there was no point? If I could give you the jewel, especially now that I know your wish – I would do it. But even if I killed myself I don't think it would help; I don't think you'd find what you were looking for in my flesh."

He stares at her, doubt flickering on his face – and then she says it, the thing that she has come this far to say, the reason that she is still standing her, the reason she has not tried to escape.

"I'm here to help you, Naraku. I'm defecting – I'm switching sides – I'm giving up on the _shikon no tama_, and Inuyasha's endless violence, and a hopeless quest. But I am not here to kill for you; I am not a destroyer."

Her hand drops from where it has remained, touching him, all this time, and he sees her fingers clench into tight fists.

"Will you let me love you, Naraku? I will do my best to fulfill your wish."

His sneer is tight and sharp and fragile.

_What a ridiculous statement! What a foolish request!_

But...

"Do as you will, girl – let me use you. You volunteer yourself as the cure for my _despondency_? You want to _be my wish_?"

Sneer becomes smirk, cruel and knowing.

"Why not? I have nothing to lose - and when you destroy yourself, amusement to gain."

He watches a shudder traverse her body, shake her from head to toe. Then she closes the remaining distance between them, sits beside him on the dais and turns her head to look up at him.

"Tell me about yourself, Naraku – about your dreams, and your feelings, and what you want from the world."

He stares, startled by her sudden presence in his space, by comfort that _must_ be forced, but does not seem so...

So he answers her question.

* * *

End of Part I

A/N: At the inspiration and insistence and general...in-ness of my braintwin, Naqaashi, I present...a foray into madness. Naraku, and Kagome, and the force of failure compounded by boredom and a single, tiny piece of change. Onward, my friends!

Please Review!


	2. Chapter 2

**Symbiosis**

**II**

_Once upon a time_, Naraku says – once upon a time, in cruel tones made falsely sweet to mock her ears.

Once upon a time, he was a boy with no prospects, a boy without purpose, with barely even a name. Onigumo is not the name a mother gives her son; it is not the name of an honorable man. Once upon a time, he was born Takeda Kichirou, but the day after it was given to him, it was taken away – by the bandits who took the life of his father; by the sorrow and the sickness that sapped the life from his mother.

The village into which he was born knew the signs of an inauspicious child – who would want such a one, darkening their own doorways, casting foul influences over their own children, attracting evil things and sharpening fears forged in the night. Relatives are not give_ choices_ – but those who took him in never kept him long, passed a child confused by loss and the dark looks of adults back and forth between numerous households.

"When I was seven, I ran away – for good, this time, unlike many other chances I had taken before. I was old enough to pack food and clothes and money; I do not think I was ever missed. Certainly, I did not miss them."

Kagome stares at him, says not a word but cannot restrain the thought that seizes her from leaping across her face.

_Such a lie. Such a lie, Naraku._

Perhaps he sees it; for a moment, she _feels _a flicker of wild aura tumble out of him, reach toward her. She does not move; like a startled beast, it retreats as his words continue on.

Words that tell her of a childhood spent in a silk gutter, a childhood spent learning things which no child should ever know. Lessons of love, and cowardice, and fear – lessons that burn a woman's life like a candle, and the lives of some men. He describes the brothels of the city, the incense and perfume of the night, the _clink_ and clatter of silver coins, the giggles and the gifts, the payments he received for his _work_ – the theft of an unattended purse, the drugging of a particular client's wine, the prick of a poisoned pin into supine flesh.

The trade of death came to him quickly, and when he was twelve he received the name that would shadow him forever.

"...because that night when I returned to her, the owner looked at me and saw the flush on my face, the flush of the kill, and the flush of arousal – because the woman that night had been beautiful and clever, and her client a dangerous man, and the flow of blood so sweet, the stain it made on her white skin...'_you have learned the art of the Spider's Kiss so well, little Kichirou. From now on, I will call you __**Onigumo**__.' _That is what she said to me – and I was proud of it, then; I did not know how it would haunt me, how it would mark me, even past the death of my mortal flesh."

He speaks of men of power, and his own growth into his trade, and how he came to learn that the world is full of dangers for those who are not in control of their own lives. By the time he was fifteen, he had moved out of the brothel and into the larger world, and there he saw men of power, and learned that there are many ways to wield such over men.

The power of birth, high station and a noble bloodline, the easy path that comes to those who carry the name of conquerors and Kings...that was beyond him.

The power of wealth, the great influence that can be bought and sold; information, lives, artifacts of power and all the luxuries life has to offer – perhaps one day, but he had inherited no great fortune and petty theft from street thugs and the paramours of whores would never be enough.

Instead, he learned and fought to take the power that would not fall into his hands any other way. Blood is, and his facility in spilling it; life and his eagerness to take it. Death, and and the strength that had been within him from the very beginning – the strength to_ use_ it.

"When I was sixteen, I joined a group of bandits and rose quickly in their ranks. I took the skills of those foolish enough to train me and turned them against their masters; I took my own share of the bounty that came from robbery and murder, the game of assassins and silence – then I manipulated the others out of their share, until finally I could take what I wanted for myself and have none speak against me. For seven years, that was my life – the best years since my careless youth, for I had money to burn and women when I wanted them and each day was full of new opportunities – new blood, new deaths, new promises to break."

Naraku stops to look at the girl, to read her face. Her expression is placid, still as water on a windless day. There is no flicker in her attention, no disruption; he sees reals interest, concern but no pity, warmth there that seems to reach out and take hold of him, though she is not touching him now, is seated beside him but with her hands in her lap.

He is waiting for some fluctuation, for a change, for something which will hint to him that the girl's current pose is a deception, a lie.

_What if it is not? What does that mean? **What does that mean!**_

Any other day, any other moment in this life he would not have hesitated to ask the question – but not this day. Not this moment, singled out of the world so that a girl could step forward, holding a hand, speaking some foreign prayer in the name of love.

_Love_.

And he begins to realize then that there is something to be said for this girl, and her bravery – for her intentions, so pure that even in the presence of the truth she has not wavered.

_And what did I mean to do in the first place? Take her, destroy her, destroy her hanyou...but she is proving to me that he is not hers, just as she belongs to no one but herself._

A want prints itself on him then – for the first time.

_Girl. Kagome. You came, offering yourself...I **will** make you mine. I will take your** everything**. _

It has not yet occurred to him that this acceptance, this choice, this fascination – it is what she was intending, what she hoped for – the only hope that yet remains to her. By the time he recognizes the trap for what it is, it will be too late; but perhaps by then those thoughts will no longer matter.

* * *

After a week, Kagome ceases to be surprised that she is still alive; after a month, she no longer gives thanks for her first breath in the morning, does not blink in shock when she reminds her of where she is and why, of who she left behind, and what is waiting for her.

She succumbs to Naraku's wishes and his whims, asks her own questions and begins to build a better picture of him in her mind. Not _good_ – never good. She is incapable of lying to herself about him, about what she has done, coming here – about what everyone and everything she has left behind to come here will think, if her betrayal ever becomes known to them.

It is a worse betrayal than might ever occur to them, and she knows it; betrayal of her belief in them – in their strength and power, in their prowess, in their will. In their ability to fight against all odds and surpass them. She is aware that by coming here, it is likely she has doomed them all to die – Miroku first, for it is the nature of the curse she lives under.

Sango, next – because Kagome knows her friend, her _sister_, has dedicated her life to the preservation of Miroku's life – the life she loves and lives for now. And then – then, when they are gone and he is alone, when there is nothing to distract him and nothing to bring him back to himself...

_Oh, Inuyasha, you will go too – down into the dark. And nothing I could do, nothing I could say, nothing that I am could ever be enough to change that. But – I will save the world for you, Inuyasha. I will overtake your enemy, I will change him utterly...even if I can only do that by sacrificing myself. _

"It is not what I thought it would be, Inuyasha...I think...I thought I would die, long before now; but now I am learning him and I cannot help but love him – really love him. For all that he is and all that he isn't...Inuyasha, I think you would never forgive me. Is that true?"

She will never really ask him. If she has it her way, she will never see him again.

_That would be pain, for him and for me and this one...this one I am trying to save. For his sake; and mine; for the history I remember and the world I must forget._

And then one day she sits at Naraku's table, and hears a rumble of laughter that is not attached to pain, that has no roots in the torture of some stolen soul, no recourse to madness and not even a hint of regret. She tastes the garlic and chicken flavor of her rice as if for the first time; in that sound, there is a whole new world.

In that sound is her first real hope, her first signal of success – the memory of man, not quite a miracle but something twice as precious.

From that moment forward she beings to forget how long it has been since she first came here; that day, that laughing day, marks the start of a new life. It is hard for her to recall the exact reasons why she walked down the road that led her _here_. She does not regret it; it is not that. It is the simple truth of how easy it was to bend to this new shape, to form her life against this new, subtle pressure. There was a never a moment of violence, though there was risk; there were horrible stories, but they are the past. They are not forgiven, because she is not a priest and those sins are not hers to lay to rest.

In one dark corner of her soul, she knows that sometimes regret is the greatest crime of all.

She has learned the truth about evil, and she is drinking him down, pulling him from his tower, weighting him with her presence, with feelings, with the light in her blue eyes.

_If I let go you will return to the dark place inside yourself where you have been hiding since that day, long ago, when a woman branded you with a name. But I will not let you go._

She smiles at him, overcome by her own thoughts. It is a clean expression, empty of everything but that single feeling which has given it birth – a combination of many things, but it distills down into one essence, finally, which she has been waiting for and he never believed was possible.

_Love_.

Love, because she knows herself – because she knew herself when she came here and it has been time, time passing, and new knowledge imprinting on her, and the surface of everything she has ever felt about this _other-than-man_ shifting aside, opening itself like the tender buds of spring.

There is madness in it, too – a madness of forgetting herself, of losing herself in a new way of breathing, a new way of looking at the world...but as time passes, his dungeons empty and do not refill. She hears screams, but also his reasons for causing them; his methods are not her methods, but she is coming to understand that this time is not her time.

_My time will never come to be, except through blood._

There are fashions in good an evil, just like in everything else...

Still, one thing is missing. Since she came here, she has no left the borders of the land he controls; she is kept within the guarded compound, watched by eyes she cannot see but is no less aware of for that fact. The walls contain her, and the courtyards with their perfect gardens, every leaf and flower in alignment, not a single shadow out of place.

Some part of him wants to tame her; there is something within him that fears to keep her close, and something greater that fears she will disappear one day, fade into smoke and ashes like Onigumo's dreams of Kikyou. These are things that she knows, because he tells her by his watchfulness, by his constant presence – by the time he spends with her, when the world is safe from his hands and their terrible urges, and the dark stains on his soul do not grow.

When he is away from her – when he vanishes, sometimes for hours, sometimes for days – she does not try to think of what he is doing. The thoughts come to her of themselves, branding her a sinner. Many nights, she dreams of gold eyes dimmed with distress; many nights, she dreams of a fist clenched in desperate prayer around dark beads.

The dreams fade with daylight, into decision; she remembers, always, forcefully when she must, that this is the place she chose to be – that this is the life that she chose to lead.

That she has saved lives, even if she loses those most precious to her.

That she is saving the world, even if no one is waiting for her after she dies.

* * *

Kagome is right – and Kagome is wrong. Naraku knows it, watching his own behavior, his own responses, as carefully as he is watching the girl. Her presence is painful to him; it robs him forever of Kikyou. In this he knows he and Inuyasha are the same and he in his knowledge he finds the will to fight and overcome that feeling.

The day he finds that he no longer holds Kagome responsible for the soul she bears is the day that he realizes he has come to call her by her name, as she once asked him – even in his thoughts, where, privately, he has always been suspicious of her motives and her intentions.

He _knows_ he is evil – knows that his kind of amorality is worse than _immorality_; that his is a logic that kicks cause and effect into chaos. He does not torture for pleasure, but for the accomplishment, the power, the thrill – to break a strong man, to take a long and well kept secret – to pry fortunes and fancies and dreams and desires from those who are not worthy of claiming them. He does not kill because he wants to; he kills because he can, and therefore he must. He kills because his world has been blood since his earliest memory, because he knows that is no excuse and does not care, because life is only as fresh as the moment's newest sensation, only as sharp as the edge of a blade in the hand.

What kind of woman goes to an evil man with promises of love?

And so he watches her, and waits, and weeks and months pass, and become a year – a year of no complaints, a year without guile, a year in which the only thing that betrays her are her nightmares, the guilts that still plague her from another life.

And when he is with her – those eyes which laugh at him, though she never laughs aloud – those eyes which answer his question.

_This kind of woman._

_This kind._

She asks him for nothing, accepts everything and anything he offers her – words, robes, books, pets, the trees and flowers of his gardens. He is uncertain about all these things but the first. He knows his own mind, and how to explain it; he does not consider regret, which would be to take away any meaning from all the acts, great and terrible, of his life. He tells her of dreams that vanished in the smoke of youthful innocence; of the first taste of death and how sour it remains to him, even after all this time – even in memory; even when he has committed a thousand atrocities, when he knows he will do worse even if the future holds feeling that ties a rope between him and...Kagome.

The one thing he keeps from her is the outside world – the passing seasons in the forest, the sound of summer waves at the seashore, the light of the moon in the night over a midnight fire, the wilderness; the danger – his own danger, too.

He is building an empire among youkai; he is using the strength that the _shikon no tama_ grants him, even in its incomplete form, to establish his own dominance, to drive the weak into extinction, to push the strong into hiding – a hiding of his own particular type.

Men are numerous; he knows that. They are also a danger which no demon has dared to contemplate, for since the early years, the years which come down in oral histories that are shared near death and at the joining of clans, no demon has feared anything like what Naraku knows is coming.

What Kagome has told him is coming.

He knows her nature now; he knows what brought her here, and how, and understands now why it is that she has never seemed quite the same as her companions – why she has never _fit in_. It is the only thing she has been hesitant to tell him since she first arrived here, and when she had finished her story, a tale of strangeness that only her own abnormality allowed him to accept, he knew why.

Her fear was obvious, and when it was clear to him, the idea was tempting.

_To conquer the future. To conquer time itself – to be bound to nothing, to no one, to be unaffected by the ages..._

Thought had calmed him, and the impossibility of holding such a domain upon reflection of the perils and costs involved. Kagome told him of weapons and of darkness and of war, of the vast changes that would overtake men and society over the course of five hundred years between now and then. Ways of combat he could not imagine; weapons of destruction the likes of which his own power was nothing beside -

And there was fear in her eyes as she spoke, a reflection of terror that told him she was speaking only what she believed to be the truth.

He had believed her.

_It is, after all, the future. Her future. And it will come to pass, because it already has; because she has come to me, and told me so – because her presence is a thing to make me think this life is insubstantial, my choices already made, no decision a thing able to influence what is coming -_

Unless in secret ways that she did not know; unless in darkness and in hidden places, the things that she believed were lost forever found ways and means to hide themselves from the sight of men.

_I was a man, once. That heart still beats within me, and I know humans are rage and jealousy towards all the things they do not understand, all the things threaten them in the night._

It is that part of him that holds Kagome here still, even when so long has passed that he no longer believes he is trying to do anything but what it was she said to him, offering herself, her love – that light in her eyes which dims but never darkens, fades but never falters.

_A year_.

A year in which he has gained much feeling, but no answers – for though he lies to others, though he is scrupulously dishonest in his dealings with the world, in his pressures and his manipulations, both subtle and overt...

He can be nothing but honest with himself.

The fact that she remains by his side, still breathing, still smiling – the fact that he has never once laid hands on her, either in violence or lust...

He cannot deny those things, and he cannot explain them, and as jealous as he is of her, her words and her actions, her movements and her presence, the essence and echo of her that permeates everything his, now...

_I would like for her to be content in this life with me. I would like for this to continue; I would like for her to remain, and become mine in the ways that she claims to have been seeking all along. _

If she has come here seeking to tempt him, she has succeeded – but he does not believe that, now. She has never asked for anything – not his attention, not conversation, not a gift or a touch or a moment...that is the not the act of a seductress. Neither is it it the act of a defeated woman, hopeless and sinking at the edge of despair.

One evening on the cold edge of Autumn, he summons her to him and says nothing when she arrives, stares at her in robes of blue and figured white – the narrow band of light that penetrates the miasma and arrives in a purple gleam to touch her hair, the tilt of her chin and the glow of her eyes, the smile that never seems to leave her, the soft, slender fingers that curl into each other, the fingers he remembers touching his cheek, once...

Kagome remains silent under his stare, and though she wonders vaguely why it is he called her here with what seems to be no purpose, she is content to be near him, to know nothing is wrong – to feel wanted, and to feed the growing warmth inside her.

"Kagome...tell me something you want."

The warmth blossoms into a flower with petals of glass.

"Something I want? I -"

"The truth."

She lets out a long breath and then looks up at him, looks him straight in the eye since the first day she appeared, weaponless, waiting outside his gate.

"I want to be able to leave, so that I can return. I want...you to trust me enough that the gates are not closed to me, I want -"

He knew it was was what she wanted – but he had to ask her. Test her.

Be _sure_.

"Come with me, then."

It is the first time he has invited her with him anywhere outside his castle; when they make their way past the gates and he catches her up in his arms she is laughing, she is laughing, delirious, drunk on freedom. He, too, is caught up in that moment – in the heat of her body and the pressure of her aura and presence against all his senses.

She smells sweet and wholesome and he wonders how that is so – how she is not tainted by his presence, how she has not been soured like all other things that come to be near him. The grass is green beneath their feet when he lands, and the night seems sharp, the moon swollen and clean.

He sets Kagome down and opens his arms and feels her gasp of delight, watches her run and dance, shedding robes like the filaments of a butterfly's cocoon, _becoming_, here under the light, here beyond walls, beyond borders or boundaries -

_Becoming_, what he had needed all along. What he wants now, and recognizes; what he _will_ have, until the end of the time.

There is nothing in Kagome but the moment when she feels freedom under her feet for the first time in a year's worth of seasons; the trees are lovely even in the dark, and she feels damp, untended earth under her feet, sees the ragged heads of the trees, some twined with ivy, others wrapped in old wisteria. She breathes deep, again and again; she feels like she is breathing the stars into her lungs, so sharp and sweet and cool is this fresh, free air -

And then she turns back, and sees him standing there – Naraku, Onigumo, Takeda Kichirou, three names, three natures, three lives, one man. And there is no plan in her, no deeper purpose when she returns to him, spins him into her scent, luscious and lovely, lifts her lips to his mouth and gives him one, sweet kiss.

Their _first_ kiss.

She steps back after a long, rich moment, and smiles. His eyes are bright and glittering, a deeper red now than she has ever seen them – garnet, burgundy, smooth as flowing blood.

Within him, something has cracked free; some desire, pent all this time -

Wild, wild the flowing feeling, wild as honey still caught in the comb, wild as the sunset and all its colors newborn, wild as the stars, and forever, and the moon in its many phases...wild as night, its totality...fragrance, difference, sweetness, sensation.

It comes all in a moment, and lingers like melted sugar on his tongue.

He has known this before, in a lesser and different incarnation.

He has tasted the fire; it burns bright within him still, and he knows now that being in her presence has woken coals to cast a dark, hot light. He recognizes that for some time now, he has been a different kind of spider, spinning a web not to kill but to _catch_ her – this pale and lovely moth, tempted by the flame.

She is offering him everything he has ever dreamed; he is too selfish not to reach out and take it.

_Love. I should have known, from the beginning - _

She is swaying now, humming a melody he does not know. She is standing with her back to him, but he feels like she is waiting for something, waiting...

_She is waiting for me. But I have a gift for you, Kagome, a gift you would never ask for...something you must have been missing, now, for so long._

"Kagome."

Her eyes are drawn to him, and then down to a glow of pale and purplish light that he holds in his hands like a fragile treasure.

"Kagome, this is for you. This _belongs_ to you."

Wide-eyed she watches the light move through the air like some great, engorged violet firefly. It twinkles before her eyes, and then sinks down into her upraised palms, hovers there, throbbing with a pulse that she feels echoed in her own heartbeat.

_My soul. This is...my soul. The part of me that was stolen -_

"But this means -"

"Kikyou is dead, Kagome. For a long time, now..."

He studies her face, waits for questions he feels are inevitable, wonders if this moment will not be everything he wanted.

"You...did that for me?"

There is no rejection in her voice, and no acceptance – just wonder, and confusion.

"Yes."

It is a simple question, he thinks. It deserves a simple answer – and he can be honest with this truth, can he not? He can tell Kagome, who is his, anything he desires; like the history no one else knows – like the ashes of the feeling for which he once would have destroyed the world – which now rests in her hands, distilled into a sphere of soul.

He is even less prepared for the second kiss than he was for the first.

That feeling again –

He takes her on the grass with the moon as witness.

There is no fight in her, no trembling, no fear of his want; only an equal and answering passion, a growing desire.

* * *

A/N: Mmm...I had intended to finish in two parts, but the bit that comes after fits much better as an epilogue; therefore, there shall be one, in a matter of hours. I do dedicate this chapter firstly to Naqaashi, but also to ye who have reviewed - I wasn't expect much response to this fic, never mind such a positive and complimentary one - so thank you, all of you. And now, onward to the epilogue!

Please Review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Symbiosis**

**Epilogue**

Naraku tastes of fire.

Kagome feels desire rush through her veins like a river, pure heat, ignited by that single taste, by the touch of his lips and the feeling of his hands running through her hair, the sliver of naked skin where his haori gaps open and his chest is pressed against her body.

It has been years, but nothing has changed between them but to grow stronger; long ago, he learned her last and only secret – her suspicion, that perhaps the tiny, missing fragment of the _shikon no tama_ was not so _lost_ in her body as she had led him to believe.

He had laughed at her, laughed truly and well for the first time in her knowledge, and reached out then to kiss her as he was doing now – untying the long, elaborate knot of her obi, laying aside the layers of kimono, rich silk and airy gauze.

"_You are the fulfillment of the wish I would have made; I will not destroy what I know now is perfect, seeking some other, darker beauty. I should have known that I was the black half of any pair; that darkness is never complete without the light. And you – you knew that before I did, you put your life in my hands long ago...no. No, I do not need a wish, Kagome. Do you_?"

She moans now, feels his hands on the softness of her breasts, teasing her pink nipples into sensitive, puckered flesh, reaches out to push silk off his shoulders and revels in the heat of his skin, his lean, muscled arms, strong shoulders, pale brown nipples on the flat planes of his chest -

He moves away from her only long enough to pull off the rest of his clothes; his hands are strong and callused and she feels his fingers plying themselves sweetly between her thighs, starting the waves of pleasure that he knows so well to bring her.

She calls out to him, calls out his name because she knows he likes to hear it on her lips, because it is full of the same fire that she has been seeking since...the beginning.

_So long ago, the beginning._

He presses his lips against her skin, against the curve of her throat and the swell of her breasts and the trembling line that dips down her abdomen and leads him to the wetness of her body. She shivers beneath him, feels the warmth of his breath against that softest skin and knows what is coming next – Naraku does not disappoint.

His fingers part willing and wanton flesh, and Kagome raises wriggles her hips in his hands, tries to urge him onward -

_Flick._

She groans.

The tip of his tongue is a hot, rough, flickering, torment – a tease, enough to bring her quickly to the edge of a high, sharp pleasure but not enough to cast her over, not enough to let the wave crest within her. Not until that flicker becomes a soft, rapid lap – not until his lips close around the engorged pearl he has exposed with his fingers –

And then the fire is back and it burns at its hottest within her, rushes from his moving tongue to the tips of her toes and rebounds upward again, and outward -

She begs, cries, moans, pleads, and he is so willing to answer her -

He enters her deeply, wholly, and she gives him what she knows she wants – what she wants, for the thrill of it, for the pleasure it gives him and the pleasure it gives her.

"Naraku. _Naraku -please -_"

She looks up at him and licks her lips and feels him thrusting deep inside her, a special pleasure so much more intense now.

He kisses her, and she tastes herself on his lips; his mouth is on her breasts, his lips tugging on her nipples, and quickly, much more quickly, she reaches a second, sharp peak.

He leans down, down, and presses his face against her breasts, grips her body tightly, almost too tightly; he is staring into her eyes when his climax grips him, staring at her as he always does, as he always has – since the first time, as if he is afraid she is going to disappear.

Afterward, he stays where he was; holds onto her, lets his eyes fall closed, breathes the smell of her skin and the smell of their sex, the odor of his claim on her – the claim no other man has made, will make.

_Never._

For that, he would once more fight a war of terrible powers.

For that he would give up this peace, which he has earned.

It has been one hundred and fifty years – he has built a sacred enclosure, a protected nation for youkai and the terrible powers of this land to hide in. He has succeeded in more than a child alone in the streets of a hard village could ever has dreamed – he has lost more, taken more, gained more; he wonders if he will pay a price.

Kagome strokes his hair and smiles, watches as the sun comes up and shines through the windows and down on their bed.

"It will be morning soon, Naraku."

"Yes, my love."

"Should we wait, this year, or go to the woods like always?"

"Why wait?"

"It's cold. It may get warmer – and you know, it's not like there's any rush."

"No...no. There isn't. But you've made me sentimental about that place."

She laughs; it is the sound of innocent youth – not unchanged, but unbroken.

"_I?_ _I _did such a thing?"

His eyes glint with annoyance; there is this side to her, this teasing, lighthearted girl -

_But there is always the love in your eyes; there is always the truth._

"You did. A long time ago, as I remember."

"Maybe. _Maybe_."

He lifts himself from her body and lays beside her, pulls her against his body, possessively close.

"We are not getting up today, Kagome."

She smiles; rubs her face against his chest.

Outside, the world turns on...

A/N: The end, my dears, the future be what it may...what it is, and forever...

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